


The Black and The White

by KaedeRavensdale



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I'm probably going to have to cut this up into a series, M/M, Nightmares, Sixth Aspect, Slow Burn, This is shaping up to be really long, Visions, compliant in some respects, not so much in others
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:24:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaedeRavensdale/pseuds/KaedeRavensdale
Summary: For the past five years Anduin Wrynn has pretended he was fine, burying himself in his studies and the hopes of a future where the Alliance and Horde no longer fight, but Pandaria seems insistent on bringing his demons to the fore. After escaping Horde captivity and finding his way to the Tavern of the Mists he finds himself besieged with visions he can't make sense of and in the presence of the last Black Dragon: Wrathion. Struggling with deep psychological wounds and the virtues of benevolence and forgiveness expected of a Priest, running from recapture by the Horde and 'rescue' by his father's forces, Anduin must decide if prejudice and the obligations of his bloodline are worth the fate of all of Azeroth as the threat of the Legion draws ever closer.





	1. The Tavern in the Mists

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mix of an old Wrathion x Anduin fic I found on my hard drive called Obsidian and Ivory and decided to rewrite, a handful of head canons and vague inspiration from a fic called 'Dragon King' by Kranja. It starts out in Mists and (if I continue it that far) will stretch into Legion. Some things will be compliant with canon other things won't be. I'm not certain how well this will turn out but we'll see.

_Overhead the sky was thick with smoke, blotting out the moon and stars in a thick pall. The only visible light on the battle field came from the falling Infernals, swirling Legion portals and the burning bodies which littered the ground. Dark spires pierced the night like jagged thorns, their tops thick with flocks of fel bats. Horrors unimaginable, a bristle with horns and armed with mauling weapons, swept in great waves across the field; brushing the defending forces aside with a cruel ease. Trampling fallen bodies under hoof and talon; Alliance and Horde, mortal and Dragon; scales of all colors buoyed atop the blood turn. A sickly mix of red and green. The cry of a Fel Reaver echoed across the scoured valley. In the distance a city burned. From a pit of molten rock, a titanic figure rose._

_Azeroth’s final stand was for nothing and all present knew it but, somehow, those who remained found the will to keep fighting. Raising their weapons and continuing to push against the Legion’s forces. Even knowing it was futile. Even knowing they had lost. Amused, Sargeras laughed, the sound battering the beleaguered army like a wave of scorching fire, but lasted only moments before it was drowned beneath something else. The very earth and air seemed to ring with the power of the deafening roars as a pair of Dragons soared up over the shield of a nearby hill and out across the battle field._

_Each were so large their shadows stretched for miles, heads crowned with regal tangles of gleaming horns and glowing eyes set upon the Legion’s leader. The first straight black with red eyes and scarlet webbing; the second pure white with blue eyes and golden horns, its wings thick with seraphic feathers._

_The sight of them seemed to give the failing forces a desperately needed second wind and they cried out in triumph. Their battle cry rising in volume as the demons hissed and faltered. The Black Dragon roared again and veered off to circle the ramparts of the portal complex, blowing the air borne demons away in a torrent of fire as Azeroth’s crust buckled; the Fel structures toppling like towers of children’s blocks. Lava spewed upwards and raced across the ground, swallowing swaths of the demons in a blistering tide. The White Dragon dove for the Dark Titan himself and opened its terrible jaws, blasting him with a blistering pillar of iridescent light._

_Sargeras snarled, curling back from the onslaught but none the less resisting. Pushing back. Lashing out when an opening was sighted. Deceptively swift and agile for its size, the White Dragon spun about and blasted him again. Joined, this time, by the other. Their breath melding into a blinding flash which forced the Demon Lord back through the portal. The earth slammed shut behind him._

_Victorious, the last stragglers being picked off below them, the pair alighted on the new formed ground and shrank into their mortal guise. The black with red eyes and skin like sable, dressed in opposing white with swirls of gold curling along his arms and chest. The other wore black, skin pale and golden hair pulled back down his back._

_“So much death and destruction. So much damage.” Blue eyes were locked on the battle as it began to wind down. “Even after everything all was almost lost.”_

_“Are you not found of such sayings as ‘trust in the Light’ and ‘have faith, all will be well’, Light Keeper?” The black one grinned, almost violet lips pulling back over sharp teeth. “The war between the Factions is at last, for the most part, at end. The Legion has, once more, been rebuffed. Azeroth is safe.”_

_“For now.”_

_A thin eyebrow rose. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”_

_“My sincerest apologies, Earth Warder.” Though shades of concern lingered in his expression, the blonde couldn’t keep amusement from his eyes. “Shall I take it back so that you can say it instead?”_

_“There’s little point, my Prince, in repeating the matter.” A veneer of pride left the affection in his voice only thinly buried. The affronted expression didn’t last long before he, too, looked out over the battle. “We’ll rebuild. And when a new threat rises…”_

_“We’ll be waiting.”_

The vivid images faded with waking, replaced by confusion and the pointed thought that attempting to use a stone as a pillow hadn’t been the best idea he’d ever had. Cold, stiff and with a notable crick in his neck the Prince Regent of the Alliance pushed himself upright. It had been nearly two months since _The Vanguard_ had gone down, leaving him stranded on a previously unknown continent but in that moment it was what the Light had felt the need to show him which fully occupied his mind in that moment. Forcing all thoughts of the state of his clothing, how long it had been since he’d last eaten and the fact that the Warchief of the Horde had put a bounty on his head aside.

He’d only seen Deathwing briefly when he’d incinerated Stormwind Park during the Cataclysm but he’d been the biggest thing Anduin had ever laid eyes on. There had been nothing he could conceive of which could even come close to his size and yet the Black Dragon in the vision-and the white one as well, though it had been a great deal slighter-had, if he wasn’t mistaken, seemed by some small margin larger. And that was undeniably what the beast had been. A _Black Dragon_ , though how it could be possible Anduin wasn’t certain as the Flight had been eradicated in the disastrous chain of events which followed the near end of the world. A part of him knew he should, at least in some small way, be saddened by that fact but after everything that the Prestors had done to his family the young Prince couldn’t find any emotion but relief about the matter. He was glad they were gone, though that feeling flooded him with a dull sense of guilt, which was buried by relief that the Light did not (barring rare exception) pass clear messages through visions, preferring to work in metaphors which could only be worked out through many hours of deep reflection. Because even for the Light he didn’t think he could bring himself to associate with one of those things. This, of course, flooded him with fresh guilt which was a great deal sharper but Anduin pushed it aside as best he could in favor of assuring himself that what he’d seen couldn’t truly, in any way, be the future as it would directly happen.

Could the Legion come back? Yes. Could they drive Azeroth to the very brink of destruction before being stopped? Absolutely. Was it possible a Black Dragon had survived? Regrettably. But he, Anduin Wrynn, was most certainly _not_ a giant White Dragon and to his knowledge (which on such subjects was, admittedly, not too terribly impressive) suddenly becoming one through accident or purposeful intent wasn’t possible.  He chose not to consider, of course, the fact that the Light, the very source of all Creation, was capable of anything it wished as he doubted such sudden and complete interference with one of its creations would be done (if it had meant him to be a Dragon he’d already be one).

No, it must have been meant to tell him something else. Perhaps that the Legion would return and that he, along with another who was potentially quite dangerous, would be integral through one action or another in routing them. But that was just one interpretation out of many thousands possible and he didn’t currently have time to puzzle through them and attempt to determine the one most likely to be true.

For all he knew the Horde was just minutes from catching up.

Crawling free of the fissure in the rock he’d wedged himself into the night before in hopes of escaping from the odd sensation of being watched Anduin rose to his feet and continued his trek up the Veiled Stair. A few more miles, maybe ten at most, were all that stood between him and Binan Village in Kun-lai. He could spend a few days’ proper rest there to regain his strength before seeking an audience with the White Tiger. And if the Celestial found him worthy he’d finally have access to his reason for refusing to return home: the chance to study the waters of the Veil of Eternal Blossoms. The lives the knowledge he could possibly gain might be capable of saving numbered in the thousands.

The sharp bleat of a goat startled him out of his thoughts. He’d reached the final landing of the Veiled Stair; twenty more steps and he’d have summited it. Relieved to have the staircase at last behind him, even if he doubted it was near the end of his having to trek up sharp inclines, the Prince put a last surge of energy into mounting them.

What he found at the top was a pleasant surprise: atop the stair in the midst of harsh terrain and freezing mist which never quite seemed to lift was…well, he couldn’t quite call it a town as it only consisted of what might have been an auction house of some kind and, blessedly, an inn. Pandaren in style, which was to be expected given where he was, it was built from wood and raised off the ground by bamboo poles. He stumbled towards it: an inn meant a bed to sleep in, food to eat, a bath and if he was lucky a set of clothing which wasn’t worn threadbare. He’d managed to swipe a bit of coin in the confusion as he’d escaped and if that wasn’t enough to cover his stay he’d gladly work off the difference.

Anduin had barely taken a few steps towards the building before the doorway was filled by two women: one a Human and the other an Orc, they were similarly dressed in leather and held cross bows at their sides. Not Horde, of that much he was certain, but nothing about them gave any clue to the faction they might have belonged to and that knowledge did little to calm his jittery nerves.

“Welcome, Prince of the Alliance, to the Tavern in the Mists.” The Human woman spoke in harsh Common, her brown eyes narrowed and unimpressed. The Orc simply stared, face held carefully  expressionless. “We’ve been expecting you for some time now. Come in: our employer wishes to extend his full hospitality.”

Eyeing their cross bows but aware he had little chance of escape in his state of near collapse Anduin dragged himself up the little flight of stairs and into the inn. The women didn’t move from the door once he’d been allowed inside, simply pivoting to remain standing astride it.

“Tong will take care of you; you’re in no state to speak with the Black Prince as you are now.” The Orc’s accent left her words even sharper than her companion’s had been; he’d have preferred if she’d simply spoken Orcish as he’d become fluent in the language long ago (though not for any of the reasons his father would have wished) and after being held by the Horde he’d grown almost concerningly used to hearing it.

“Welcome, Prince.” The Pandaren whom he assumed was Tong shuffled over to him and bowed, a smile on his furry face. “We have been preparing for your arrival since not long after you escaped the grasp of the Horde at Serpent’s Heart.” He’d been being watched? The sensation of eyes on him hadn’t simply been the illusions of paranoia? A chill passed down his spine at the knowledge he’d been spied on by an unaffiliated group attached to this ‘Black Prince’ whose motives lay Light only knew where. Anduin didn’t have much choice but to determine exactly what it was this mysterious ‘Prince’ wanted, it seemed, if he wanted any chance of striking back out on his own. “Please, step this way. After so long on the run I’m certain a warm bath wouldn’t go amiss.”

The thought of relief was enough to make his muscles stiffen further; wincing, Anduin almost lost his feet as he followed Tong out the back of the inn. The mist here seemed warmer, in contrast, than it had elsewhere and the young prince soon found out why: a massive hot spring bubbled up from the rock nearby, belching steam into the air which smelled vaguely of sulfur. Folded on the edge, well out of reach of the water, was a towel and fresh set of clothes.

“Take your time.” With another bow, the Pandaren left him.

Alone, Anduin took the time to observe his surroundings more closely: the inn looked largely the same from behind as it did from in front; the back court yard was small and enclosed in the rear by a sheer outcrop of rock; beyond the lip of the spring was a breath taking view down the side of the stair; slight motion in one of the upper windows drew his attention but when he looked up nothing was there.

Sighing and shaking his head Anduin quickly divested himself of his ruined clothing and slipped into the warm water. Thank the Light for hot springs; for the opportunity to finally be _clean_ again. He sat back against the smooth lip of stone and stretched his legs in front of him. Feeling muscles stretch and release and joints pop. His wet hair dripped cooling droplets down onto his face, slipping down his face as the exhaustion returned with dogged insistence. Draping itself across him like a heavy blanket. Sinking deep into his bones. Surly it couldn’t hurt to rest his eyes for a moment…

He must have fallen asleep during that ‘moment’ because the next thing Anduin knew knuckles, gloved in thick leather, were tapping against the curve of his cheek.

“He lives.” A male voice, tinged with amusement. The young prince raised his head and was met with a bandit’s smile. “It’s cold out, the waters warm, you’re tired, I get it. But sleeping in there isn’t a good idea.”

Grumbling, Anduin sat up and blinked sleep from his eyes. “You’re the ‘Black Prince’ then?”

The man snorted. “Me? No. I’m just a Black Talon, one of his hired guard.” He said. “Technically breaking cover without reason is a breach of protocol but I figured he wouldn’t appreciate you drowning and you’d rather not be fished out by Left or Right.”

“Left or Right?”

“The two ladies inside: the Black Prince’s favorite guards.”

Anduin wasn’t certain if it was because he was still half asleep or simply a testament to the absurdity of it all but he found himself staring at the other man in disbelief. “Their _names_ are Left and Right?”

“Well, I doubt those are their given names.” He said. “Though one does never know…” the man straightened abruptly and stepped back from the edge. “I’ll leave you to dress and dry off. The Black Prince will want to speak in another few minutes.”

Before Anduin could even think to open his mouth he’d vanished on the spot though he doubted he’d gone far.

_Well, better to get to the bottom of this quickly instead of drawing it out._ He pulled himself out of the spring and quickly dried off. The clothing he’d been given was fairly different than what he was used to wearing, though that too was to be expected; for a touch of familiarity and a bit out of obligation Anduin threw his slightly mud splattered tabard on over it before heading inside.

Tong met him there and led him up a flight of stairs to the second floor; he was taken to a closed door at the end of the corridor. The Pandaren knocked once,  was told “enter”, opened the door and allowed Anduin to slip inside passed him. Inside the room was a table filled with a bowl of steaming meat and vegetables and a bottle of fine wine. Placed around it were two chairs, one of which was already occupied.

As red eyes met his Anduin’s knees almost gave out from shock. His back hit the shut door with a loud clatter of wood. No. It couldn’t be possible. It _wasn’t_ possible (even though logically he knew that it was) yet there it sat. In front of him. In the guise of a half-elf with dark skin, its pointed ears studded with golden piercings.

Black Dragon.

“A pleasure, my Prince, to at last make your acquaintance.” It rose to its feet as it spoke but Anduin’s heart was pounding so loudly that it nearly drowned out the words. His hands began to shake, chest aching as panic set in. The door behind him was now all that was holding him up as he lost the feeling in his legs.

Glowing red eyes. An indecipherable fog filling his mind, dulling his perception of the Light and forcing him to bend to _her_ whims. Shackles biting into wrists and ankles. Spiny eggs pressing close, the promise that their contents would devour him looming like a monstrous shadow.

Anduin forcibly wrenched himself free of his spiraling thoughts and retreated instead to his link with the Light. Taking shelter in its warmth. Dismayed to find himself relaxing under the assurances that the Dragon in front of him wasn’t a threat.

He begged to differ.

“Please, sit. I’ll have you for dinner.”

The Prince felt one of the small muscles in his face twitch. “I think I’ll pass.” He said. “Getting eaten by a Black Dragon isn’t on my list of to-do’s in Pandaria.”

Dark lips curled back over white teeth like razors, clawed fingers coming up in a failed effort to stifle a laugh. It was a pleasant sound. Too much of one. That muscle twitched again; hopefully the spasming wouldn’t become permanent. “I apologize if I gave you the wrong idea. I can’t quite say that I’m a vegetarian or that I’ve ever tasted human before but I wouldn’t want to eat you either way. A bit too boney.”

Why did that little comment leave him feeling thoroughly insulted?

“Please, I’ve ordered this meal specially prepared for the occasion: the favorite dish of the last Pandaren Emperor and the finest wine in all of Azeroth. I’m well aware of the trouble that my kind have caused you in the past and hoped making an effort to leave it clear you’re an honored guest would help to ease the way.” He said. “Please, join me for a meal. I’m sure you’re famished after your long flight and I swear on my honor that nothing here is poisoned.”

“Honorable Black Dragon? That’s one I haven’t heard before.” Still, better he die of poison than of starvation. Never letting his eyes leave the other male, Anduin sat primly on the edge of the open seat as if expecting it to suddenly explode and began to eat. Holding himself back from dispensing with all decorum was a struggle; seemingly aware of this, the Dragon grinned again.

“My name is Wrathion Prestor, last of the Black Dragonflight and last truly immortal Dragon. Purified by the Red Flight via the use of a Titan object I stand, or rather sit in this instance, before you as Earthwarder: an example of what my kind were, once, before my father fell to the corruption of the Old Gods.”

Grunting was unprincely so Anduin settled for a cold glare.

“I’ve been interested in you for a long time, Anduin Wrynn.” He continued, the tone of his voice alerting the Prince of his intent to prod him into speaking. Well, he wouldn’t play the Dragon’s little game: wouldn’t allow the glorified lizard to-. “You and I are much alike.”

“I am _nothing_ like you.” The shadows which always lingered at the edges of the Light boiled beneath his skin and it took every ounce of his control to pull them back. He should have been better than this, less affected; conducted himself with the restraint he long ago learned, befitting of a Priest of the Church of the Holy Light, but he simply couldn’t. Left too deeply affected by traumas and fears he’d never addressed which had lingered like poison for years. It was unbecoming, but he couldn’t help himself. Even the knowledge that the sore point would only make him more vulnerable did nothing to help him in getting a proper handle on himself.

“I’m inclined to disagree, my Prince.” Wrathion appeared unfazed by his outburst and picked up his glass of wine. “You discovered a gift for both the Light and language at a young age and made use of the later to further your goals by making friends with certain leaders of the Horde. Baine Bloodhoof and Vol’jin of the Darkspear both hold you in high regard, as I understand it. Some would call you soft for wanting to bring an end to the war between the factions and I’d be inclined to agree with that assessment in some regards but in the end we want the same thing it for different reasons.”

“I want the bloodshed to stop so that there can finally be peace; with peace there will be less cracks for monsters like you to wedge their claws into.”

The Dragon’s expression tightened. “My sole desire is protecting Azeroth from the powers that would seek to destroy it. Doing so requires some measure of an accord between the factions. In that regard, I wouldn’t hesitate to call us like minded.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“What worth is peace, my Prince, when there’s no world left on which to enjoy it?” Wrathion’s smirk was incredibly self-assured. Anduin dug his nails into his chair. “I have been restored, as I said earlier, to the prior purpose of my kind and have taken up my father’s once position as Azeroth’s primary defender. Even as we speak threats beyond your full imagining race towards us; their only purpose snuffing out this spinning speck of light lost amidst a sea of chaos.”

Torn ground drenched in blood. The stench of sulfur. Infernals falling like rain. “The Burning Legion”

The Black Dragon straightened in his chair, claws clicking lightly against metal. “Most wouldn’t be so quick to guess, if only for lack of desire to confront such dreaded prospects.” He said. “Would I be wrong to suspect that something’s been…informing you of pressing issues?”

Giant shadows stretching long across the battle field. Deafening wingbeats stirring the air.

“I’d advise you not to offend the Holy Light by referring to it as ‘something’ again, Son of Deathwing.”

“My bigger concern is offending you, my Prince. However, as this ‘Light’ seems to be of importance to you-it’s one of few things Dragon kind doesn’t understand, and I can’t help but wonder if the lack of a Flight tied to it is the cause-I’ll approach the subject with greater…deference in the future.” The acquiescence only served to make the blonde even more annoyed. “Yes. The Burning Legion. We’ve rebuffed them before but that will be no discouragement. Sargeras does not take well to being bested, after all. He’ll see our world’s continued existence as a direct slight against him.”

Wrathion’s talons worried against the edge of the table.

“I cannot say that I agree with what my father ultimately did but I believe he was right about one thing: our world is so fragile. Perhaps it was the effort to protect it, and not the Old Gods, which truly drove him mad. And it would indeed be an impossible task for one to do alone. That is why I need you, my Prince. As things stand now the Alliance and Horde are poised upon the lip of a war which will destroy them both: Thrall saw this, I see it and I know you see it too. And that’s why I’ve come to Pandaria.”

Sitting back in his chair, the Dragon turned his head to look out the window. “Here, in this ancient land shrouded in his mist, are countless secrets. Lost knowledge. And, potentially, the key to protecting Azeroth. But I cannot do this without you: you are trusted where I am not, perhaps rightfully in some ways, and I know that you unlike your father are able to see an end to the fighting which doesn’t end in the Horde’s complete eradication. Only Black and White together can save this world. So allow me to ask,” when he extended his hand it was all Anduin could do not to flinch, “will you shed the moniker of the young lion and become Azeroth’s White Prince instead?”

The Prince of the Alliance stared at the offered hand for a long moment but made no attempt to take it. “You’ve a silver tongue, I’ll give you that. But where I may, perhaps, be ‘soft’ I’m not a fool.” He said. “I will not be used again. Not by you or anyone else. I do, Wrathion, believe peace with the Horde is possible but only so long as the Black Dragonflight stays well out of it.”

“I’m aware of-.”

“With respect, you’re not ‘aware’ of anything. Plainly shown by the fact you took the time.” Outbursts and barely restrained rage were more his father’s territory, being a warrior as he was; with Anduin, largely owing to efforts to appear unruffled even when he truly wasn’t, anger tended to circle back around into a caustic sort of politeness which was blatantly insulting in and of itself. A rather Black Dragonish behavior, actually; a thought he quickly strangled as he rose to his feet. “We’re finished?”

Though worded as a question it wasn’t one and of that much the other seemed well aware. Wrathion rose as well with a gracious incline of his head, white turban shifting slightly atop black curls. “For tonight. I’m certain you’re tired, my Prince. I’ll show you to your room.”

The thought of _I’m not ‘your’ anything_ flashed across his mind as he followed Wrathion out of the room and down the darkened hallway to another door. After sparing only the barest of moments for a less than proper “thank you” Anduin closed the door behind him. The Dragon could stand there in the hallway or go straight back to his plotting; either way, it didn’t really matter to him.

He was so tired. And for the first time in too long he had a real bed in front of him. As much as the thought of being under the same roof as a monster chilled him to the bone he knew that continuing to run himself ragged would, in the long run, amount to nothing good. It was better he rest now than sorely regret it later when he no longer had the strength to defend himself.

Wrathion couldn’t be more than two years old, surely still a whelp (not that he knew much about Dragons) and could be handled with a manageable degree of difficulty if the need to do so arose. Anduin could tolerate the menace for a week, easily , and then he’d be free to move on without him towards Kun-lai.


	2. Pushing Buttons

‘What could go wrong in a week’ was a question that would _never_ cross his mind again.

Anduin had hoped that he’d be able to find a relatively quiet haven within his room at the inn but, sadly, that wasn’t the case. For one thing there was the utter madness of the ‘auction house’ next door which he was now very well aware was not in any way upstanding and sold exclusively black market merchandise for ridiculous mark ups in price. Then there was the fact that the Tavern sat dead atop the Veiled Stair, off to the side of the only road between Kun-lai Summit and the Valley of the Four Winds, making it incredibly appealing to adventurers and soldiers of Alliance and Horde both which had forced him to spend the majority of his time shut away in his room. Not that he wouldn’t have done so anyway, but it felt decidedly different when it was his own choice to do so. Then there were the Saurok: giant vicious lizard men which liked to run around atop the roof and scale the walls at night, the scratching of their claws keeping him from sleep late into the hours of darkness. And when he finally did fall asleep the nightmares of Onyxia, both in her true form and as Lady Katrana Prestor, leapt to the forefront of his mind. Dragging with them memories he’d suppressed for so long that he’d almost succeeded in making them disappear.

Some nights he remembered sitting on a throne far too large for him with his legs dangling high above the ground as Katrana made all of the decisions which were truly important. Some nights it was the tight clutch of claws around him as he was dragged away to Dustwallow Marsh. Some nights it was the bite of metal and the press of scalding rock against his skin. Those nights were the worst and he woke on those mornings with his chest burning and the memory of toxic fumes swelling his throat nearly shut.

He should have addressed matters years ago-why no measures had been taken to help him through the trauma when he’d still been a young child he wasn’t truly certain-but it was far too late now.  Recovery would be an arduous process, one he wasn’t sure was possible with how deep the wounds ran. One he wasn’t certain was worth dragging himself through. Forgiveness was a virtue of the Light, a quality expected of those who had devoted their lives to following its way, but somethings simply weren’t forgivable. And some beings didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

Anduin didn’t want to grapple with the possibility that Black Dragons might not be among them.

What little time he did have outside of his room Anduin spent in the hot spring, either enjoying the view in Wrathion’s absence or pondering the nature of the vision he’d been shown. Surely there was something sensical hidden in those images. There must be. It _had_ to mean something beyond its obvious implications because he refused to believe that the Light would ever see fit to punish him so severely as to demand he find himself in prolonged contact with the Dragon. Never mind the implication of the _affection_ that had been spoken.

If he could have dismissed the entire matter as a nightmare he would have but what he’d seen was far too specific, far too detailed regarding things he couldn’t have known at the time, for that to be true.

Shuddering, Anduin redressed and brushed his damp bangs back from his eyes before returning inside. His hopes of making it to his room for a final night of keeping himself holed away before leaving the Tavern in the Mists the next day were dashed by the sight of Wrathion staring at him from the other side of a game board.

“Ah, my Prince,” infuriatingly, the Dragon simply refused to call him anything else. “Did you enjoy your bath? You were out in the hot spring for some time.”

Anduin frowned, swiftly calculating the likelihood of his making it around the other Prince and up the stairs as next to zero given where Left and Right were standing.  He let out a harsh breath through his nose. “It was fine.” He said. “I took a bit of time to think.”

“And have you thought?”

“A bit.”

Wrathion grinned. The young Prince of Stormwind was mildly horrified at himself for how easily he managed to summon an image of punching the Dragon’s pointed teeth in. “Good.” He said. Anduin braced for him to attempt to prod at exactly what he’d thought about but the question never came. “Come and have tea with me. Let us engage in a favored Pandaren pass time: Jihui has become a mild obsession of mine.”

So this was the game they’d play: Wrathion would frame something as a request but his guards would pen him into agreeing and Anduin would have to weather whatever his latest attempt at manipulation was? Fine. It wouldn’t be much longer before he’d be well away from the other either way.

Sitting down, Anduin said “You do know white moves first?”

The Dragon nodded. “I do.”

“Yet you’re willingly allowing me the first move?”

“I think we both know that the first move is only the illusion of advantage.” Wrathion said. “Not to mention things are only right this way, given that _I_ am the Black Prince and _you_ …well, perhaps you’ll agree to be my White Prince one day.”

Anduin contained an untoward snort.

“Your move.”

He was halfway through picking up one of the white pieces when he froze. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” the Dragon repeated.

“With your kind there’s always a catch!”

“…Has anyone ever told you you’re quite sharp, my Prince?” Wrathion’s grin put teeth like knives on full display. “The loser must do one thing for the winner without question. Agreeable?”

Anduin grimaced, clutching the game piece so tightly his knuckles turned white. _It’s risky…but he’s only a whelp. And where I may not be the warrior my father is diplomacy and strategy have always been my strengths._ Eyeing the board a moment longer, he set the piece down and shot the Dragon a challenging glare. “Your move, ‘Black Prince’.”

The game progressed at an alarming pace; a battle of minds played out in tile pieces and paper cards with such seriousness it were as if lives were truly at stake. Anduin would push Wrathion’s lines and, in turn, Wrathion would fell his pieces. He’d adapt his strategy accordingly and come at the Dragon again but Wrathion worked in ways he simply couldn’t fathom. Flawless defenses. No way in until-there! A hole in the lines from a foolish mistake! He’d just move his piece into place and-.

“Check mate.” Anduin froze, staring at the board in disbelief. Wrathion had somehow managed to maneuver one of his black pieces into proper position first. Horrified, terribly aware he’d soon be acting as the ‘White Prince’ whether he liked it or not, he was left nothing short of speechless. “Time to claim my prize.”

The grin on Wrathion’s face reminded him terribly of a cat which had caught a particularly juicy bird.

“What I want from you is a single question answered honestly.” He said. “Why?”

For a drawn out moment, having experienced a mild short circuit, Anduin stared at him before responding with an entirely ineloquent “what?”

“Why did you refuse to help me?”

“I think it should be obvious!” Anduin folded his arms across his chest, refusing to acknowledge the defensive nature of the action. “You can pretend all you want but you’ll never be any different than your father.”

The only sign of the raw nerve he’d stepped on was a slight narrowing of the other’s red eyes. “The only one here whom I see acting like my father, Anduin Wrynn, is you.” He said. “Benevolent and kind though he once was, long ago, he put his selfish wants and fears above his sacred obligations of protecting Azeroth and joined the Old Gods. And what of you, dear Prince? The Void spawned the Old Gods, did it not? You, a Priest, are as much in contact with it as you are the Light. Am I thereby obliged to expect you to snap at any moment and start wreaking havoc on everything around you?”

The mere suggestion made something inside him curdle, but Anduin ruthlessly pushed the notion away. It was ridiculous. Absurd. He wouldn’t allow Wrathion to toy with him like this. “I’m little like my own father, ‘Black Prince’, even with blood involved. I’m most certainly nothing like yours.”

“So you acknowledge that blood needn’t necessarily amount to likeness yet still you see fit to drop the deeds of my father into my lap?”

“It’s not an equivalence.”

“Nor is the hypocrisy, I suppose?”

“Do you enjoy whittling my temper short?”

Red eyes still tight around their edges, Wrathion folded his hands in front of him. His scaled gloves gleamed black in the light which streamed through the window. “It’s my understanding that you’re also leaving for Kun-lai tomorrow?”

“Also?” Anduin repeated.

“I’ve my own business to see to, my Prince. I’ll not get into the way of yours, though if you’d like to accompany me in seeking enlightenment atop Mount Neverest you’re welcome to.”

“I’ve had enough of your company to last a thousand life times. And, as you said, I have business in Kun-lai as well.” Anduin said. “I’ve no interest in climbing a mountain. Certainly not with you.”

“I figured such, but thought I’d extend the invitation either way.” He said. “Tong will have our supplies and transport secured by tomorrow morning. We’ll part ways at Binan Village.”

It ended up being exactly as Wrathion had said, at least as far as scheduling went. His Black Talons worked incredibly fast (which, Anduin supposed, was precisely what the Dragon paid them for) and he came down the next morning to find the Black Prince perched atop a small mountain of provisions.

“You can’t possibly be large enough to carry all of that.”

Wrathion looked almost wounded by the suggestion and pressed a taloned hand to his chest. “I’ll have you know, my Prince, that accelerated growth was one of the side effects of the Red Flight’s meddling: along with, of course, my incredible intellect.” He said. “Another month more and I’ll be large enough to carry you from one end of Kun-lai to the other.”

“I’ll stick to a Gryphon.”

“I didn’t mean to insinuate that I was actually _going_ to let you ride me; I’m the Earth Warder, not a mount!” He leapt down from his perch and landed on the wooden floor with a grace Anduin couldn’t help but envy. The motion caused his turban to slip slightly askew on his head and reveal a brief glimpse of burgeoning horns. Briefly, prior to catching himself, the young Prince wondered if the outlandish head piece was an effort to hide the rather unimpressive nubs from the world. “Carrying the supplies is a job for the hired help; they have to earn their coin somehow, yes?”

“You shouldn’t degrade your guards with menial labor.”

“The Black Talon aren’t simply guards, my Prince. They’re my answer to the problem of a decided lack of Black Dragonspawn in current times.” Wrathion turned up his nose as he started towards the door. “The fact that I actually pay them rather than enslaving them like _all_ the other Flights did in order to lead to the evolution of the Dragonspawn in the first place is the very opposite, I think, of an activity which is in any way degrading. You’re ready to head out, aren’t you?”

Anduin walked passed him without answering.

“We’ll be taking a boat through the pass; Binan is directly on the other side of it. It shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to reach at which point we’ll likely part ways.” Thank the Light. Being able to get on with things, to get away from Wrathion, couldn’t come soon enough. Maybe then the nightmares would stop.

He could bury them again, then, and go back to pretending like he had for years. Air it out. Let it heal. It’s painful but that’s a good thing; it means it’s healing. Anduin had given similar advice countless times and yet he himself was refusing to do exactly that. Preferring to run from what he feared, deep down, he wasn’t strong enough to face.

 _Hypocrisy indeed_ hissed a voice in his head which sounded far too much like his own, filled with more admonishment than he’d have preferred.

They hiked up a steep incline, giving the crevasse leading away into the Saurok’s den a wide berth, and soon arrived at the bank of a river where they were greeted by a Pandaren Brewmaster and a Grummel. The ‘boat’ which had been secured for them looked far more like an ill-put-together canoe than was likely safe to ride in but that fact didn’t seem to worry Wrathion at all. The Dragon boarded with all the grace which Anduin decidedly lacked but at least had the decency not to comment though he did laugh. A lot.

It would have been a nice sound, coming from someone else.

Their travel through the pass was relatively uneventful, discounting the continuous efforts of the Dark Hatched Saurok to fill them with spears. His shield held up well against the onslaught but, never the less, getting pelted was to some degree unnerving.

The atmosphere at Binan Village was not what Anduin had hoped for: the air was incredibly tense, barricades had been erected at the far end of town and Pandaren armed with bows and quivers patrolled the area.

“A party of Yuangol have been sighted heading this way; they’ve made preparations to beat them back.” Wrathion informed him as they stepped onto the dock. “I sent Talren ahead to investigate the area and-ah, here he is now.”

It was the Black Talon from the hot spring behind the Tavern; Anduin recognized him immediately by his shaggy hair and fennec face. He wasn’t smiling now, however, and the young Prince wasn’t certain if he should consider that a sign of trouble.

“Black Prince. Prince Wrynn.” He addressed them each in turn before saying “several SI:7 and assorted members of the Horde who were present at the Battle of Serpent’s Heart, as well as General Nazgrim and Admiral Taylor, have been brought here to recover from their wounds. They’re currently on the second floor of the inn.”

“Thank you, Talren. That will be all.” Wrathion said as Anduin stepped around the rogue and started in the direction of the building. “It seems the young lion is off to help his people.”

Choosing to ignore the Dragon’s last little comment the blonde rushed across the village and through the door of the inn. After bidding a polite if rushed hello to some of the healers there he scaled the stairs onto the second floor. Quickly locating the correct room and poking his head inside to check that the coast was clear before entering.

Three SI:7 members whom he recognized from a brief encounter in the Jade Forest and Admiral Taylor were lain up in various states of injury below a small window. At the sound of his footsteps Taylor, with great trouble, lifted his head as the others looked around.

“Prince!”

“Relax, Admiral, please.” Anduin crossed the room at a sedate pace. “You’re injured. There isn’t any need to worsen your condition on my account.”

“With all respect, Prince Wrynn, do you have any idea how worried you’ve made everyone?”

“I’m well aware,” he said, mildly amused as he reached the other side of the room. “But I have my reasons. I can’t go back until I’ve seen the Veil.”

“Reason or no reason, Prince Anduin, I can’t have you running around Pandaria alone.”

“Oh, indeed, but he’s not alone so there’s no need for you to concern yourself with the safety of our dear little lion here.”

Four sets of eyes snapped towards the figure that stood in the doorway. Anduin refused to look at him. “What are you still doing here?” he asked, pointedly staring out the window. “I thought you’d have gone trotting off to Neverest immediately; don’t you have some cliff to drag yourself up?”

“I do.” Wrathion’s reply was kept carefully polite. “But, as I’ve made mention in our first conversation, the Light is something I don’t understand. I was hoping that viewing its use might help towards remedying that.”

“The Light is never something so simple that it can ever be ‘understood’, even by those who devote their entire lives to studying it. It’s blasphemous to suggest otherwise.”

The Dragon hummed. “Never the less,” Wrathion said, “you have me quite curious. I’m merely an observer: pretend I’m not here.”

 Sound advice which he intended to follow. “You were wounded in the battle at Serpent’s Heart?”

“Yes.” The Admiral said, seeming reluctant to allow the matter of Anduin’s mysterious company to drop despite it being clear that the Prince did not want to address it. “When that monster appeared and the statue was destroyed.”

“Ah, yes, the Sha of Doubt. The destruction, as I understand it, was quite damaging to the life cycle of the Jade Serpent Celestial.”

Ignoring Wrathion’s words Anduin knelt beside the other man. “May I see your wounds, Admiral?” After receiving an affirmative response the blonde carefully unwound the bandages wrapped around the other’s chest. Investigating spoiling bruises and broken ribs with the delicate touch of an experienced medic. “Things seem to be going well, but you’ve only healed half as much as I’d have expected you to under the care of healers given how long it’s been since you were injured.”

“It’s probably because he gets into a verbal match with the orc in the other room almost daily, Prince.” The woman said.

“Agent Kearnen!” Taylor sounded scandalized. Anduin hid a smirk behind his hand.

“More than likely it’s due to the Mistweaver’s techniques: they’re affective but, like most of everything to do with the Pandaren, work slower than most others.” Wrathion’s tone was one of mild disinterest. “Some would claim that slower is better.”

“An’ what do you think, sonny?” grunted the dwarf whom Anduin recalled, with some regret and an echo of disgust at the memory of using Shadow Magic, as being the agent he’d mind controlled in the Jade Forest from his perch atop a pile of boxes.

“Don’t engage him.” But the grumbled warning was too little too late.

“’Sonny’?” Wrathion repeated, his black leather boots clattering on the floor as he drew himself up to his full height. “I’ll have you know, Dwarf, that I too am a Prince!”

Anduin snorted. He was rewarded with the sensation of a hard gaze digging into his back. Continuing to pretend the Dragon wasn’t there the young Prince centered himself and felt familiar warmth trickle down along his arm and to his fingers. A golden glow emanated from the point of contact and Taylor winced. Anduin sat back a moment later. “You should be back on your feet by tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Prince Wrynn.”

Nodding, the blonde turned his attention to the three SI:7 agents. “My pleasure to be of assistance, Admiral. Though I have to wonder why the medic you have with you didn’t take action to hasten things along prior to now.”

The Draeni woman blushed purple. “I overextended myself during the battle, Prince, and am still recovering from mana exhaustion.” She said.

“There’s little hope of convincing you to remain in Binan Village, at least until we can accompany you?”

“None.” He told him. “But once I’m given entry to the Veil of Eternal Blossoms I’ll spend the rest of my time in Pandaria studying the water there. And then I’ll return to Stormwind.” A huff from the direction of the doorway alerted him to the fact that Wrathion _still_ hadn’t left yet. “Didn’t we agree to part ways in Binan, ‘Black Prince’? You’ve satisfied your curiosity by now, I’m sure, so why are you still here?”

“I thought I’d offer you a chance at reconsidering your decision not to accompany me.” He said. “Is enlightenment not what followers of the Light such as yourself truly seek?”

“That’s not the sort of enlightenment which sits at the top of a mountain.”

“Then where does it lay, my Prince? Reflection? Prayer? Somewhere safe, locked up in the basement of a cathedral?”

Outside the window, across the village beside the barrier a patrolling archer paused to look out towards the distance. “If your interest lies at the top of a mountain somewhere that’s your concern. Mine doesn’t.”

He should have known that the lack of an instantaneous response didn’t bode well. For a moment Anduin thought he may have won the argument, but then Wrathion did something the Prince really should have seen coming: he dug his claws into a raw nerve. “It seems the general consensus about you is quite correct, my Prince: you’re nothing like your father. _Varian Wrynn_ would never allow himself to become so frightened of a rock that he wouldn’t even attempt the challenge.” Spine suddenly stiff as a rod Anduin turned his head to glare over his shoulder at the Dragon. Wrathion lounged against the frame of the door, draped in shadow, lips curled into a provoking grin and a challenge in his eyes. “Oh, it seems I’m not the only one between us whose father is a _sore point_. Well, my Prince, what say you?”

“I’m not ‘frightened’ of the prospect. I simply think there are better ways to spend my time.” The whelp seemed to take an almost perverse delight in bringing out the worst in him. All the more reason for Anduin to want to distance himself; the last thing he needed was to start dragging along an entourage of Sha. “But since you seem so incredibly fixated on me climbing Neverest with you I’ll make you a deal. I’ll do this in return for your word that afterwards you’ll leave me be.”

“What worth is the word of one you clearly think so little of?” Wrathion’s grin widened when Anduin sent him another sharper glare. “Very well. Should you accompany me on my trek you have my word that I’ll not trouble you again. Unless you seek me out yourself first.”

Naturally there had to be a caveat of some sort but it was better, he supposed, than nothing. “How long will this take?”

“Journeying on foot to One Keg will take two days. Up and down Neverest another two. Travel from One Keg to the Temple of the White Tiger will take three days after that.” He said. “Your plans will be pushed back only about half a week.”

And, from the look of the pile of supplies he’d seen before they’d left the Tavern there’d be more than enough to tide them over. Even now that there were two of them for the journey instead of just one which meant “you planned this.” More worn out than accusatory.

“It behooves one in my position to be well prepared for every eventuality. Had you still insisted on striking out on your own sooner, they’d have gone towards something else.” He said. “The Horde are in the other room if you’re wondering, though allow me to suggest caution. The orc is large enough to strangle you to death with a single fist.”

“I’m not going into the other room.”

“Oh?” his eyebrows rose, nearly disappearing beneath the lip of his turban. “I thought you wanted peace with the Horde. You refusing to help some of its members is a surprise, my Prince, I must admit.”

“There are healers here seeing to their injuries already. None of them will die without my aid. Were that not the case my decision would likely be different but as things stand currently they aren’t my concern.”

“So if you came across a dying orc out in the open world you’d save them?”

“I’d try.” He answered stiffly.

“What about a dying Black Dragon?”

Gritting his teeth, Anduin pushed passed the other Prince and took the stairs two at a time. Chuckling, shooting the glaring Alliance members a final glance, Wrathion followed him out.


	3. On the Road

_Shadows and choking smoke swirled around him, cutting off his air and burning against his skin. Below the thin crust of rock he lay on he could hear magma boiling; prolonged contact made his skin blister and redden. The shackles on his limbs were unyielding, the short chains attached and bolted to the cavern floor had already been stretched to their full length. He was trapped. Surrounded by a forest of broken eggs and a mob of new hatched dragons, scales still slick with slime and small wings crumpled and wet, their glowing eyes set on him in hunger._

Anduin sat bolt upright, barely stifling a yell, and recoiled as something moved in front of him. Heart racing and shivering from the cold, the young Prince blinked sleep from his eyes and forced his body to relax. Shadows continued to dance from the fire outside, throwing flickering shapes across the canvas walls of his tent.

A dream. Another nightmare, that was all it had been. And not even one which stemmed from a true memory of what he’d gone through back then as, thankfully, things had never gone that far. His father and Bolvar, with the help of some heroes, had gotten him out before the eggs hatched.

Breath rising in front of him in silver clouds, barely detectable in the dim orange flow, Anduin brought his knees up to his chest and put his head between them. Five years. Half a decade since it had happened and yet he could still taste the chemical sharpness of the volcanic fumes and feel the heat against his skin. Could still see, in his mind’s eye, every detail of her scales; the banding in her burning eyes. He’d been fine, until barely a week ago. Fine, until Wrathion had appeared in his life. He’d almost managed to forget…

Exhausted from the long day’s walk but far too cold to sleep, Anduin pushed the thin blankets which had been brought along away and crawled free of his tent. The ground was as hard and cold beneath his hands as Stormwind stone. Small rocks and bits of sparse, brown grass dug into his palms and knees. Overhead the sky was a black vault filled with spirals of silver. Pushing himself onto his feet Anduin wrapped his arms around his body. Shivered. Looked around. The fire popped loudly, expelling a cloud of red and golden sparks.

Wrathion, thankfully, had retired to his own tent by now. Right and the small handful of Black Talons who had accompanied them were nowhere to be seen. Left sat on one of the large rocks which they’d grouped around the fire earlier, watching him. He approached after another moment and sat down as well. Reaching towards the fire. Feeling the warmth begin to thaw his fingers. Travel up his arms. Slowly, the shivering began to ebb.

“How long?” her Orcish wasn’t as sharp as her common had been but it still made him jump. Wide blue eyes stared across the fire. Amber eyes stared back impassively before she repeated her question. “How long has it been haunting you? The thing that gave you those nightmares.”

Anduin averted his gaze to the coals. “Five years.” His voice was thick around the stinging lump in his throat. “Half a decade.”

“And how old are you?”

“Fifteen.” What was the point of this line of questioning?

“A third of your life. That’s not good for you, Prince. Have you spoken to anyone? Have you even addressed it for yourself?”

“What difference does it make?” he didn’t much like the way this conversation was going. “I’m fine.”

“No wound heals by being left ignored. And hoarding your demons like a Dragon’s gold will only lead you to continued pain.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you know as much about such matters as you think.” Feeling almost as if he were teetering on the edge of something, Anduin glared daggers into the fire.

“I know more than you think, young Prince.” She said. “Durnholde, after all, was not a pleasant place. And seeing your own world fall to ruin is something which sticks with you as does the betrayal of your own leaders in favor of a Demon’s pretty deceits. Lordaeron and the Burning Legion are what lurk in my past, but I’ve come to terms. And I’ve forgiven your race for the deaths of my family. Can you not do the same for the Black Prince?”

“It’s not a one to one equivalence. I’m not naïve enough to believe that there aren’t bad humans, or even good humans who do bad things because they believe their actions to be right but my race and his race aren’t the same. Deathwing. Nefarian. Onyxia. Black Dragons only ever bring pain and destruction where ever they go and I’ll need proof before I take your employer’s word that he’s different. ‘Purified’ or not.”

“And how do you expect that to happen, Prince, when you refuse to believe he’s anything but evil?” she asked. “You lost your childhood five years ago, if you ever really had one at all, and you’ve tried desperately to accommodate for that fact by growing up too fast. From what we’ve heard of you, in some ways, you’re well beyond your age but in others you’re well behind. And whether you realize it or not you’ve already passed judgement on the Black Prince.”

Was that true? Did he care? Did it matter when he’d probably be proven right anyway? Light damn it, this wasn’t how he should be acting! Assuming the worst of others was against the Light’s teachings. Viewing the world in stark shades of white and black, or perhaps more accurately red and blue, was one of the few difference between himself and his father that he was grateful for. Was he really going to allow that objectivity to vanish up in smoke without making any effort to hold on to it, and all over  Black Dragon no less? Hadn’t he always believed redemption was something everyone could achieve?

He could deny it, lie to the Orc and himself, but there wouldn’t be much point. Left had already made it clear she saw right through him almost as if he were made of glass. And he’d already deviated enough off the right path without adding badly orchestrated deceit into the mix.

“You should go back to sleep, Prince. There’s still a ways to travel come morning, and you’ll need your energy. The Black Prince won’t want to stop often for risk of not reaching One Keg in good time.”

That, at least, was advice that he could find no fault in. With any luck, if he even got to sleep again despite the cold, Anduin would be able to escape the grasp of any further nightmares. After allowing himself another few moments curled by the fire’s warmth, the blonde reluctantly stood. “Good night.”

Leaving Left sitting beside the fire with the cross bow by her side, Anduin shuffled back to his small tent and curled up in his icy blankets. Though it was better than what he’d have had if he’d ventured into Kun-lai on his own and definitely better than no shelter at all the thin canvas and wool did little to keep out the stiff mountain wind or the seeping cold of high elevation. Burying himself in the blankets as best he could, he tucked close to the ground in an effort to conserve as much heat as possible.

Whether or not he actually managed to fall asleep was debatable but he did, at least, manage to find his way into a state of vague half-sleep which wasn’t as restful as he’d have liked. He re-emerged once the sun had risen into the blue sky, stiff from cold and position he’d held for the past handful of hours. Left was still sitting by the fire, now reduced to little more than embers, where Anduin remembered having seen her the night before. Right had reappeared and was sitting beside the other woman: she spared him a brief glare before going back to drinking what he suspected was tea from a metal cup. Wrathion, too, was awake and seated beside the fire his turban nested in his lap.

“Ah, there’s the young lion.” He said, smoke curling in thin tongues from behind his sharp teeth. “You don’t appear to have slept well, my Prince. Was it the cold? I’ll admit that I wasn’t quite prepared for how frigid nights here become: I’ll be certain to rectify that matter before we start up Neverest. One Keg should have proper enough supplies.”

By ‘I’ Anduin was certain Wrathion actually meant ‘one of the Black Talons he’d dragged with them away from the Veiled Stair’. Ultimately, if it meant he didn’t have to trudge up a snow covered mountain in clothing which could barely stand up to the temperatures of where they were already he didn’t really care who was actually doing the ‘rectifying’.

“I’m fine.” He said.

Red eyes blinked at him. “Are you certain? We won’t be stopping until mid-day, and even then only briefly. Necessary as it is to get to One Keg, and later to the Peak of Mount Neverest, in good time as when one holds the concerns that I do not a moment can afford to be wasted I wouldn’t want to force you to collapse.”

He’d run further on less rest before he’d found his way to the Tavern in the Mists. Four hours of sleep and another two of half sleep was more than enough to travel on foot until sun down. Once in One Keg’s inn, away from the cold, he’d be able to sleep properly-discounting potential nightmares-before Wrathion dragged him to the top of Neverest.

Maybe there’d be something worthwhile for him in the journey. Maybe there was enlightenment, at least in some form, to be found atop the gelid peak of Ken-lai’s highest mountain after all. Maybe the snow and frozen wind would help to clear his head. Shake him out of this…this atypical behavior.

At the very least it would provide him with a memorable view.

“I’m fine.” Anduin insisted again, beginning to feel as if he was wearing the phrase out.

Wrathion’s eyebrows rose further. Small as they were, barely able to curl back over his hair, the Dragon’s gold capped horns gleamed in the light. “As you say, my Prince.” He said, offering him a cup of steaming tea.

If the Black Prince had wanted to poison him he’d have done it already so it was without hesitation that Anduin accepted the drink. Fingers curling around the warm metal, ignoring the vaguely painful tingling in favor of enjoying the heat emanating from the liquid inside.

“Red bean buns are about all we could take along which would hold up on the journey.” The Dragon said, reaching a taloned hand into a pack which sat nearby and pulling out one of the mentioned buns. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Giant mountain of supplies. Fine tea in camp. Red bean buns: Anduin had never seen one before but it reminded him of one of the expensive pastries the bakers back in Stormwind would make. “I was expecting bread.”

“Bread?” the Dragon snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, my Prince. I would never eat something to plain as a chunk of unaccompanied _bread_.”

Anduin rolled his eyes but took the bun anyway, more than a little bit uncomfortable with the way Wrathion stared at him as he took a bite. Sweet and light, though the texture of the bean paste was rather strange.

“Well, my Prince?”

Blue eyes measured the Dragon’s curiosity before he said “it’s alright.” That was understating things drastically but he’d sensed an opportunity to get underneath Wrathion’s skin. From the huff the Black Prince gave in response, his efforts had worked.

“Well,” Wrathion informed him shortly, crossing his arms, “I’ll make certain that there’s plenty of _bread_ for you in the future. I was so concerned with learning your useful traits and developing a plan by which to approach you that I failed to notice the fact you have the pallet of a _braindead murloc!_ ”

Upsetting him had been the goal but Anduin still couldn’t help but think that Wrathion had become almost unreasonably offended by the matter. “Says the child.” He drawled over the rim of his cup. “What are you anyway? Two?”

That was another point of sensitivity, it seemed; Wrathion whipped his head around to glare at him with such intensity that it felt as if he were being stabbed. “In _Dragon years_!”

“Dragon years or Human years neither of you are acting like adults.” Right growled, though he hard gaze was directed entirely at Anduin. Left shook her head but said nothing.

The Black Prince made a sound in the back of his throat that was remarkably similar to an angry cat and replaced his turban on his head. “Finish up, my Prince, if you’d please. We should be getting on our way.”

Beneath the Dragon’s burning gaze Anduin dumped the remainder of his tea onto the fire. Dousing the coals. “Lead the way, ‘Black Prince’.” He got up as well and brushed the dust and bits of dried grass from his pants. “I take it that we’re leaving all of this here for your Black Talons to see to?”

“You’ve taken it correctly.” Wrathion was already a good few yards down the road. Left and Right were heading out of the campsite as well. Not wanting to be left behind Anduin set the mug down and trotted after them.

Even after staring at it for the entirety of the day prior the sweeping amber hills and distant mountains of Kun-lai formed a sight which he still found incredibly impressive. Bright sunlight. Open skies. It was all so different than Stormwind Keep where he’d spent most of his life. The city which he’d only rarely, until just a handful of months ago, set foot outside all owing to his father’s near paranoid desperation to keep him safe. He knew the man only did it because he loved him but it was a grating habit, especially as he’d gotten older, and freedom-even if it came at the cost of running from the Horde and keeping the company of the last of the Black Flight; even if it was destined to be short lived-was sweet.

A Northwind Hawk flew screeching overhead before diving down, snatching some unfortunate animal up in its talons and flying away with it. A grey tiger lounged atop a stand of boulders and lazily watched them pass, too tired at that time of day to bother troubling them. A heckling flock of sprites attempted an ambush but were quickly sent packing by Wrathion’s two guards.

The travel was grueling and by the time they stopped for food and a brief break his thighs were burning and he was slightly out of breath but he wasn’t bothered by the matter in the least. The lack of conversation almost allowed him to forget what he was traveling with, and as he sat down for a quick meal and short rest Anduin found himself at the happiest he’d been in quite a while: the last time being as he’d stood on the decks of _The Vanguard_ with the salted wind in his hair and Stormwind Harbor behind him.

They reached One Keg just as the last of the day’s light faded from the sky, leaving behind a wreckage of pink and violet which was swiftly being swept away by the spreading stars. The inn was only slightly larger than the Tavern in the Mists had been though, Anduin noted, not as well furnished: if there was one thing about Wrathion that had become incredibly clear it was that the Black Prince, as was perhaps his nature as a Dragon, liked nice things.

To his relief they were supplied with separate rooms, but that relief was sadly short lived. No sooner had Anduin removed his boots and dropped onto the bed did a soft knock come against his door. Wrathion didn’t wait for permission to enter, no doubt aware it wasn’t likely to come, and stepped inside barely a moment later. Thankfully, he didn’t stay long; only long enough to inform him to meet at the mouth of the path up the mountain at day break.

Two days of travel and the night prior’s lack of proper sleep left him so tired that, mercifully, there were no nightmares.

The next morning dawned grey and white with falling snow; thick wet flakes which flecked distorted patterns against the frost paned windows. A stocked pack and fur-lined clothing sat at the foot of his bed when he woke. Throwing them on over what he already had on, seeing as no measure of extra warmth would be remiss in this weather, and pulling the straps of the pack over his shoulders Anduin exited his room.

It was a fight against the wind to even get the front door open and once he finally managed it a drift of snow spilled across the floor boards. Biting back a curse and chilled to the bone within the span of seconds despite the warmer clothing, the young Prince wrestled the door shut and trudged through ankle deep snow in the vague direction of their agree upon meeting point. He found Wrathion waiting for him, dressed precisely as he had been the night before but for the absence of his turban likely due to the fact it was liable to blow away. His piercings and the small gems which dangled from the tips of his horns clinked softly in the wintry gale.

“How are you not freezing?” Anduin demanded, the exposed skin of his face already bitten red. He had to shout over the wind to make himself heard.

“I’m a Dragon, my Prince. A Black Dragon, no less. There is fire in my blood: I’m not as affected by the cold as you are.” He said. “How else did you think we tolerate the temperatures of Northrend?”

That did go at least some way in explaining why Wyrmrest Temple was in the Dragonblight. And how Dragon kind had ever evolved in Northrend in the first place. “Where are your guards?”

“Left and Right?” Anduin nodded. “Not coming.”

“How many Black Talons are you bringing with you?”

“None. I don’t pay them quite well enough to justify forcing them up a mountain.” He sounded amused by the mere concept. “Do you expect there to be something atop Neverest which you’re going to need guards to protect you from?”

“Yes.” He said flatly. “You! You’re a Black Dragon and I don’t trust you; I certainly don’t feel at all comfortable with the concept of being _alone_ with you!” Never mind the fact that he probably stood a better chance against Wrathion without any guards, considering the fact that they were employed by the Black Prince and not his father. “Light only knows what you’ll do given even half the chance!”

All traces of amusement slid off his face like oil, replaced by something which was remarkably close to malice and raised the hairs along the back of the older Prince’s neck. “I have been remarkably forgiving up until now owing largely to what my sister did but my patience has reached its end! I refuse to be held accountable for my father’s sins, by you or anyone else: my destiny is my own!” Turning sharply on his heel, Wrathion started up the path. “I’m climbing this mountain with or without you. Accompany me if you wish to. If you don’t, fine! Go see the White Tiger. I wash my hands of you regardless!”

To his stunned surprise Anduin found the other’s outburst had left him feeling almost chastised. He looked up the slopping path at the Dragon’s rapidly retreating form and then back at the inn. He could go back inside where it was warm and then head out for the Temple of the White Tiger once the storm broke. Could avoid the entire potentially fruitless debacle of hauling himself to what was likely the tallest mountain on Azeroth.

But he’d already come so far. There wasn’t really any point in failing to follow through now.

Sighing and pulling the fur tighter around his form as ice turned his hair white Anduin hurried to catch up with his companion.

Their hike was largely spent in unfriendly silence but for the howling of the wind and the crunching of snow beneath their feet. Anduin had nothing to say. Wrathion was clearly fuming and would send him occasional glares. The higher they went the thinner the air became until finally, just below the summit and with his chest aching from cold and lack of air, he could go no further.

“I can’t make it to the top.” He said once the Dragon had reluctantly stopped. “I’ll stay here and try to find shelter for the night; trying to make it back down the mountain in the dark is a death wish.”

Wrathion’s only answer was to resume his trek up the remainder of the path. Anduin could only presume his silence to be agreement.

The ledge that the path stretched across wasn’t very large and by consequence didn’t take very long for the young Prince to search. No caves or even fissures in the rock which might have offered some respite from the blistering wind. He even went so far as to examine the mountain’s face for the next couple hundred yards back down the path only to find the same thing: nothing but unbroken rock.

 _We might not have any other choice but to try and get back down to One Keg tonight._ Resolving to wait for the Dragon to return to break the news Anduin cautiously approached the ledge and looked down. At the bottom of a steep, though not all together insurmountable, incline of around forty feet was an expansive field of snow bordered on its left side by a yawning crevasse in the ice. Not far from the base of the drop off were a pair of dark forms: though they stood mostly buried by the snow and were far enough away he couldn’t make out detail through the blizzard it was immediately clear that, whatever they were, they hadn’t been created by the natural wearing of the ferocious wind. _What in the Light’s name…?_

Curiosity sparking to life inside him Anduin leaned a bit further over the side to better examine the face of the rock; icy, jagged and steep but the young Prince was fairly certain he’d be able to make it back up onto the path. And who knew how long Wrathion would be. After checking over his shoulder for any signs of the Dragon’s return and finding himself alone, Anduin threw his legs over the lip of the cliff and felt around blindly for a trustworthy foothold.

The climb down onto the glacier was more arduous than he’d expected, owing largely to the unfettered fury of the storm. It lashed at him. Yanking at his clothing. Tugging on his limbs with such force it were as if it were attempting to pry him off the rock. Snow scratched at his face. Clawing at his eyes. Blinding him despite his best efforts to blink the flakes away. He almost fell twice but, in the end, made it down safely.

Cautiously, wary of smaller cracks which might be concealed beneath the unblemished snow, Anduin approached the smudges he’d seen. As he closed the distance they became more and more clear until, at last, he stood beside them. A pair of statues carved from dark blue stone that stood as tall as he was, their powerful bodies and smushed faces canine in appearance but their thick necks wreathed in the manes of lions and their paws sporting claws like swords. They must have been centuries old at least, though what creature they depicted or what they might have been doing up there on top of a mountain Anduin couldn’t begin to guess.

When he brushed the snow free of the nearest one the young Prince was struck with the odd thought that the statue was oddly warm for something made of rock.

Snow crunched beneath heavy footsteps. Anduin spun around, barely able to process the sight of the massive figure looming above him before it swung the weapon in its hands. He threw up a shield on reflex and avoided being struck only narrowly; the stone blade bit deep into the ice with a terrible crack. He turned to flee only to find himself face to face with one of the snarling lion-hounds. Claws hissed passed his head as he stumbled back in surprise, losing his footing in the snow and toppling backwards into the path of the monster’s second swing.

The golden shield of light surrounding him splintered apart.


	4. Blood in the Snow

Anduin’s back hid the ground hard enough to knock what little breath from his lungs the force of the blow hadn’t already stolen. White hot pain seared up his side. His body arching and curling in on itself on reflex as the cold flakes burned the open flesh like acid. Horrified observations of _that definitely broke bones_ and _that weapon was poisoned_ scattered like frightened fish in a shallow pond leaving behind only the inescapable reality that he was going to die. Up there on top of that damned mountain off the side of the path where he’d never be found. Killed by some strange giant and its lion-dogs. What would his kingdom do without an heir? What would his father do without his son after already having lost everything else?

The giant appeared as if it were made from stone as well, its skin glossy and red in color and its features appearing as if shaped by a chisel. The spear that it held was as long as two men standing on each other’s shoulders, blood-his blood-dripping sluggishly off the tip and into the snow. Anduin’s vision was starting to go out of focus. The cold setting in faster now, as if invading his body through the open gash. His attacker stepped forward, the claws on its paw-like feet punching through the frozen crust which had formed over the snow, and raised its weapon again as the circling beasts snarled. He squeezed his eyes shut.

A thud and a rush of cold air was followed by the clank of bone against metal. The giant’s shout of surprise was drowned out by an angry snarl. Heat burst across his skin, red light cutting through the grey of the driving storm. A scaled foot, starkly black against the almost blinding snow, was planted firmly inches from his face; the jut of a sharp heel leading upwards along powerful hind legs to meet with a long tail  which ended in a mauling point. Wrathion was somewhere in size between a lion and a horse, his wings mantled around him and his scales on end.

A second blast of fire sent the giant stumbling back and the Dragon made full use of the afforded time, latching onto the young Prince’s ankle and beginning to drag him away across the glacier. Leaving a scarlet trail painted across the snow. The giant and its pets gave chase but Wrathion was fast and yanked Anduin over the lip of the crevasse just moments before the nearest beast’s metal claws crashed down.

Wrathion’s forepaws wrapped around his chest after a few moments of free fall, black and crimson wings opening to the full extent the confined space would allow. Anduin’s weight was a bit too much for the Dragon to carry and stay in the air but he managed to slow their fall enough that, when they landed at the bottom in a deep drift of snow, the impact didn’t do much more than bruise.

“What were you thinking, you _stupid_ Human?” the Dragon snarled, his voice echoing off the slick blue tinged walls which towered over them. “You may never have been outside the safety of your city prior to ending up on Pandaria but surely you can’t be this much of a fool? Did you not consider that out of place ‘statues’ might have been _dangerous_?”

Anduin wanted to bristle but was in far too much pain to and knew that, at least to some degree, Wrathion was right. What _had_ he been thinking? Had he even been thinking at all? Curiosity without caution was never something which ended well and Pandaria had already proven its capacity to be unexpectedly dangerous. He should have known better. Had there been some sense of warning he hadn’t noticed? Some instinct he’d subconsciously ignored? Anduin couldn’t remember. The poison on the blade had left his head swimming. His limbs felt as if they’d been cast from lead.

Wrathion’s red eyes took in his violently shivering form, torn fabric stained with blood and bone and muscle exposed down the left side of his ribs. The snow beneath him was steadily turning a tacky cherry color which was, to Anduin’s by this point near delirious mind, disturbingly similar to the ice treats children in Elwynn would eat during the Fire Festival. Hissing and steaming in the cold. He struggled to focus on the Dragon, blinking rapidly, but his eyes refused to cooperate and continued to reduce his companion to a nearly featureless coal smudge against the opposite wall.

Curls of smoke rose from the Dragon’s nostrils. “What are you waiting for, Wrynn? You asked the Draeni medic in Binan why she didn’t heal herself and the others. Why aren’t you seeing to that wound.”

Wound? What…right, he was injured. Bleeding. Badly. Needed to put a stop to it before the damage became too much for his body to take and he died at the bottom of a crevasse. At least with the cold and the poison, depending on what it was, he stood some chance of surviving until the Black Talons could get them back down the mountain. Never mind the fact that his training hadn’t yet extended into something quite as serious as this.

He just needed to focus. To find his way back to the by now more than familiar place in his mind where the Light was. To remember the right words for the prayer; to ask for help. It should have been simple but all he managed to do was fumble blindly in the dark, swimming through a distorting haze. No longer able to tell up from down and receiving nothing in reward but a splitting headache.

“I can’t.” He said. Even the words tasted like blood. Distress welled up beneath the heavy press of exhaustion. He couldn’t find the Light. He _couldn’t_ find the Light. That had never, ever, happened. Even back when he was younger, before he’d known what it truly was, the Light had always been there. A comforting warmth curled up in the back of his mind. It hadn’t left, he knew, but he couldn’t find it and that in some ways was much worse than it having fled him. “I can’t.”

Whether it was the stressed tone of his voice, the implications of Anduin’s inability to bring the situation onto relatively more stable ground or some combination of the two Wrathion’s annoyance shifted to concern. Frilled ears lay back against the base of his horns.

“You’re a skilled healer, aren’t you? You know how to treat injuries even without the Light, surely?” He said. “Tell me what to do.”

“Fire.”

“The cold shouldn’t be your foremost concern right now, my Prince.”

“Not for cold. To stop the bleeding. Have to cauterize it.” It was a struggle to keep his words intelligible. His lips had gone numb. “It’ll be painful. I might pass out. Wake me up if that happens. If I fall asleep down here I’ll probably die.”

His ears were ringing, but he thought he might have heard the Dragon growl. “I can’t just breathe fire on you.”

“Metal.”

Metal? There was nothing made of metal, nothing made of anything but ice and snow, at the bottom of the glacial trench. The golden band around the wrist of his front paw gleamed in the dim moonlight. Poor treatment of a beautiful piece but it couldn’t be helped: better melted metal than a dead Prince. It would, after all, be difficult to be seen as neutral by the Alliance if they ever learned he’d sat by while the heir to Stormwind’s throne bled out in front of him.

The orange light of the flames cast a strange glow across the ice walls. In the eerie light of the red hot bangle Anduin’s skin was tinged a highly concerning greyish-blue which clashed strangely with his unfocused eyes; a tired furrow had formed between them as the Human struggled to keep some semblance of awareness of what the Dragon beside him was doing.

“It’s probably for the best that you’re not able to clearly see this, my Prince.” He said. “After all, they do say ‘don’t look’.”

The metal met open flesh with a sound disturbingly similar to cooking meat. Anduin howled, his voice echoing up out of the crevasse, and made a weak effort to squirm away. His eyes rolled upwards and he went limp. All it took to revive him was a bit of snow but Wrathion suspected waking him wouldn’t be so easily done a second time. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Realistically the Dragon suspected that it would.

The bleeding had been stopped. There was nothing which could currently be done about the poison Anduin believed had been on the blade. Preventing the Human from freezing to death was now his top priority. At least that effort was fairly easily done.

Stepping carefully over Anduin’s prone form Wrathion draped himself around him, shuffling about until he’d succeeded in propping the blonde into a half sitting position against his side, and covered him with one wing.

“I’ve already called my Black Talons: they’ll get us out of here by morning and back to One Keg by that night.” He said as Anduin weakly turned himself onto his uninjured side in an effort to make himself more comfortable. The sharp diamond shape of Wrathion’s scales imprinted themselves in his soft skin. “The Mistweavers will fly in in only a handful of hours. You’ll have proper treatment. It’ll only be a couple of days after that that you’ll be well enough for that audience with the White Tiger.”

Anduin pressed even closer in search of warmth in a remarkably reptilian fashion. _Funny_ Wrathion though _how quickly self-preservation dispenses with his aversion to Black Dragons. Seems ‘irrational’ instinct is more rational than the ‘rational’ mind._

“What was it?” it was a fight to keep his eyes open. “That thing?”

“That, my Prince, was a Mogu. Once they were among the Titan-forged and were charged with digging rivers and molding mountains. But after they were afflicted with the Curse of Flesh and the Titans left they lost their way and succumb to pride and a lust for power.” Wrathion said. “Their empire once held Pandaria in a cruel grip but after the Pandaren uprising their race all but disappeared. To have encountered one here is…concerning.”

“Mogu.” Anduin repeated clumsily. “Dog lions?”

“Quilin.” He said. “How’s your ankle?”

“Ankle?” the blonde said it like he’d never heard the word before.

“The thing between your foot and your leg.”

“What?”

“Does it hurt?” Mild impatience had begun to tinge Wrathion’s voice. It wasn’t Anduin’s fault, really, that his faculties were shutting down but it was still annoying. “In my haste to pull you away I may have bitten you a bit harder than I meant to.”

“Bite?”

“My Prince, you’re not making sense.” The blonde made an incomprehensible noise, eyes fluttering in a futile effort to stay open. Stay awake. “You need to stay conscious. You may die if you don’t. You said so yourself: you may not trust me but I’m sure you trust your own advice.” Another inaudible response. “Anduin!”

He poked and prodded at the older Prince with his muzzle and claws and, for a while, succeeded in keeping the other mostly awake but ultimately the trek up the mountain, the cold, the blood loss and the poison became too much for such measures to keep at bay. Anduin spent the last hour of their time in that trench unconscious.

It was difficult, impossible really, to balance gentle treatment with getting them out in a timely fashion. Both to keep him warm and simply because it was easier, once they were finally out and back onto the path Wrathion carried Anduin down the mountain on his back, not for the first time wishing he was just a little bit larger. This time so that he’d have been strong enough to fly the wounded Priest to a warm bed in One Keg’s inn in half an hour instead of an entire day.

It took three more hours after they’d gotten back to civilization for the Mistweavers to arrive. Wrathion spent the time after pacing in agitation in front of the hearth on the first floor, Left and Right watching him from where they sat at the table with a tray of tea between them. The Orc watched calmly as ever. The Human was obviously annoyed.

“If you’ve something to say, Right, by all means do so.” It was difficult to force himself to do so but Wrathion managed to pull himself to a stop. “There’s no point in allowing it to eat you in silence.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned, Prince. You’ve done enough for him now that, even if Wrynn dies, you couldn’t reasonably be blamed. In the time you’ve been together he’s barely displayed even basic decency.” Right said. “He doesn’t deserve what you’ve done already.”

“It isn’t truly fair to judge him so harshly.” Left said. Behind where Wrathion stood, the fire crackled. “I didn’t internalize what I went through to the same degree that the Prince of the Alliance has what Onyxia did to him but it still took me years to come to terms with the prospect of forgiving your race. Even longer to actually go through with it. And I was an adult when I endured the destruction of Draenor, the meddling of the Legion and the deaths of my family in the war and at Durnholde. He was a child. He’s still one now.”

Right sneered. “I still don’t understand how you could have become in any way attached to him.”

“I’m not attached to him. I’m attached to the concept of the White Prince. Hard decisions must be made to protect the whole of Azeroth from destruction in the future and I’m well prepared to make them, but I lack the compassionate objectivity to see that at times the hard choice isn’t the only choice which will lead to the same result. And there’s little point in saving Azeroth if doing so reduces it to a lifeless ball of rock.” He turned back towards the fire. “Anduin Wrynn possesses that compassion, among other qualities, in spades and that makes him the perfect fit in every facet for the role I wish him to fill. In fact, I’ll have no other. With any luck this mild disaster will pay returns in budging his views.”

“You saved his life.” Left said. “He’ll be grateful, at least. A start, if nothing else.”

“I still think you should have left him up there.” Right drawled. “People disappear all the time, especially running around in a dangerous and unfamiliar continent after being raised in a Palace all their lives. No body, no ability to trace the matter back to you.”

Footsteps on the stairs put an end to their conversation and Wrathion looked up as the Mistweavers reappeared, tension coiling within him. They were leaving, and that meant either that Anduin was no longer in danger or…

Catching sight of his stare a red Pandaren woman smiled. “There isn’t any need to worry. Your friend will be alright.”

There wasn’t any point in correcting her on the fact that they weren’t friends so Wrathion simply nodded. “Thank you.”

She returned the nod and disappeared into the snow.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, already moving towards the stairs, “I’m going to go check on our little lion.”

The wooden staircase creaked beneath his feet as he climbed. Wrathion found the correct door quickly and pushed it open, stepping into the room. A strong herbal smell had been left behind by the Mistweavers efforts. Anduin lay asleep in the bed, draped in shades of blue and silver by the dull moonlight which spilled through the windows. He didn’t stir when the Dragon approached, standing at the beside, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Even no longer up against his comparatively larger true form the Prince of Stormwind looked small against the sheets, that appearance only aided by the slate grey shadows which outlined his features and clung to the contours of his jaw. Wrathion turned to leave but was stopped when Anduin proved himself to be awake after all.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was dry and raspy. “I was…wrong. Potentially. About you.”

“Potentially?” Wrathion turned to face him. The darkness brought out the grey tones of Anduin’s tired eyes. “So you still believe there’s a chance you weren’t.”

The sheets rustled as the human shifted in discomfort.

“With what you’ve gone through I suppose I can understand your hesitance, my Prince. So I suppose even the acknowledgement of a small chance I might be different is a novel change.” He said. “If I may ask, while we were walking through Kun-lai you seemed happier than I’ve ever seen you. Not that, admittedly, we’ve known each other very long. Why?”

Anduin stared for a moment before looking away again, seeming to have come to the conclusion that he owed the Dragon some sort of explanation. “I’m rarely even allowed into Elwynn Forest. Have been cooped up for years. Even if it’s doomed to end very soon, it’s good to be free.”

“Freedom. Yes, that’s something I can understand.” He said. “If you were to agree to becoming the White Prince you wouldn’t have to return to Stormwind. You could remain free, with me, on the Veiled Stair.”

Before this likely would have elicited a hissed refusal and, doubtlessly, another disparaging comment about his Flight of origin. All Anduin did now was shake his head and look vaguely pained.

“Well,” Wrathion said, “it was worth a try.”

A brief silence between them.

“When we played Jihui back at the Tavern and I lost you could have asked me to do anything.”

“You’re surprised I didn’t abuse the ability by demanding your assistance?” the older Prince nodded. “If I had asked that, would you have held the agreement?”

“I’d have tried to get out of it.” He admitted. “Though I’m not certain I’d have been able to.”

“Which is precisely why I refrained, my Prince. I need a willing partner not someone I have to keep a leash on.” He said. “I understand that you’re damaged and that it’s troubling you greatly; that’s a burden I can’t afford to saddle myself with. Should you ever find yourself willing to take steps to move beyond it, however…?”

“Even then you wouldn’t see me back. I’m sorry, Wrathion, but I have obligations to the Alliance in the same way that you do to all of Azeroth. I’m my father’s only son, his only child; I can’t simply go truly neutral on a whim when there’s no one to take my place in line for the throne.”

“I understand. Still,” Wrathion held out a polished, grey and blue stone, “I’ll leave you with this on the off chance you change your mind. Good luck with the White Tiger.”

“You’re leaving?” He sounded surprised. The Hearthstone was warm where the Dragon had touched it.

“Tomorrow. But Talren and a number of other Black Talon will remain with you until you return to the Eastern Kingdom I do hope you find what you hope to in the Veil.” Wrathion stepped back towards the door of the room. “I’ll let you get back to sleep, my Prince. You need your rest if you’re going to recover. Safe travels back to Stormwind.”

The hinges creaked as the door swung back shut behind him, leaving Anduin alone in the dark.


End file.
